


Daughter of the Dragon

by faeyrearcherons



Category: And I Darken Series - Kiersten White
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeyrearcherons/pseuds/faeyrearcherons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lada Dracul has returned to her homeland of Wallachia to claim her throne but is fighting an uphill battle for the boyars to accept her as prince. Meanwhile, Radu and Mehmed II plan to lay siege to Constantinople, the last stronghold of the once glorious Byzantine Empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 1453: Wallachia 

Lada Dracul’s scowl deepened as her would-be assassin screamed for mercy. A pity, she thought, that the quality of assassins has gone down this low it only took Bogdan to break the man’s left hand and a few teeth for him to reveal the name of her enemy.

Nicolae turned away as Bogdan slit the man’s throat, “That was disappointing,” he said.

“That it’s only the third assassin this week?” asked Bogdan

“No, that the Danesti family have pitiful excuses they like to call _assassins_ ,” replied Nicolae, echoing her thoughts.

Still, it was a sign of relief. None of the assassins had mentioned the Hunyadi as co-conspirator. Which meant either he’s better at covering his tracks than the usurper or the man was not involved. If Lada could pray to God, she would pray it was the latter.

“Vlad Danesti is getting desperate, he knows he has lost favor with Hunyadi and does not want the throne reclaimed by me.” she replied to Nicolae’s observation.

For nearly a year now this had been their routine. Assassination attempts one right after the other. Whenever word reached the rival prince Lada's whereabouts, an assassin was never far behind. As long as she - and her brother to an extent- remain alive, the Danesti family's grip on power will never be secure. Which is why a desperate and foolish part of her has placed her hopes in John Hunyadi; the man who orchestrated the deaths of her father and brother. If Hunyadi placed Vlad Danesti on the throne he could easily take him out as well.

As if reading her thoughts, Bogdan asked, “Do you trust the man to make you prince?”

“Only a fool would trust Hunyadi,” Lada replied coolly, “If he has half the intelligence his enemies give him credit for, the Danesti clan won't stay in power much longer.”

“But even if he does help you gain the crown, who is to say he won’t betray you as soon as you prove useless to him?” Bogdan persisted, undeterred by her sharp gaze.

“Or lock you in a convent so he can rule in your name?” added Nicolae.

“Don’t you think I haven’t thought that?” she snapped. They both stepped back from her as if she were visibly toxic. She instantly relaxed her features, Nicolae and Bogdan did not deserve her vents of frustration.

She tried to give them a reassuring and reasonable explanation, “He will be compelled help us - for now at least. Hungary is on the brink of a civil war. One of his sons is dead and the other imprisoned by the old King. So far, the current prince has stayed neutral to the conflict which presents a problem for Hunyadi since he was expecting Wallachia's support.”

“Even if he does help,” said Bogdan, “he will expect to be a puppet master pulling the strings. Once he realizes he cannot control you he will orchestrate your own murder as well. You know this.”

She did know that. But what Bogdan and the others didn't know was that Lada had pulled Stefan aside several days ago for that very reason. _Bring me any information you can find on the Hungarians._ Stefan was her spymaster, always moved in the shadows, he merely nodded and rejoined the group afterwards as if nothing occured.

Matei scoffed at Bogdan, “Of course him being the puppet-master to the Danesti’s worked well, their family comprises of weak-minded idiots like the other boyars. If Hunyadi tried his tactics with Lada, she would cut off his manhood and feed it to the dogs in a heartbeat.” His comment earned plenty of chuckles from the men.

“Well,” remarked Petru – the youngest of them all, “even if he cannot or will not show his support you'll still get the crown, I believe.

Petru, being the youngest of the former janissaries, was also the most optimistic. But as soon as the words left his lips; Bogdan, Matei and the others gave nods of approval, even Nicolae. Lada could not conceal her grin.

Nicolae gave her a serious look, “I meant what I said back in Edirne and I mean it now: we will follow you to the ends of the earth, Wallachia or wherever else we go. Partly out of respect and partly out of fear of what you would do to us if we refused.”

Lada tipped her head back and laughed. “I would do horrible things.”

Nicolae’s easiness made the atmosphere suddenly lighter. She could almost forget the shock of being met with hostility when her arrival was first announced. Those few sympathetic to Lada’s plight would let her and her men stay at their village for a night or two, before word traveled back to Tirgoviste.

Mehmed had warned her she would never be accepted, but she returned anyway. She was the daughter of Wallachia and its crown was hers by blood. If those self-righteous and arrogant boyars will not accept her, she would make them. Though Lada knows she cannot do by force alone. For once, she wished she had Radu's political maneuverings.

Two days ago, Lada had received a letter addressed to her in Latin, the language of diplomacy.

_Lada Dracul,_

_I am pleased to hear you have escaped the den of vipers in Edirne. I write you in hopes that your views on the Turks have not changed in your six years of captivity. You once wrote to me the zealot Mehmed II had planned to take Constantinople and what you forewarned has come true. If, God forbid, the city falls nothing will stop the zealot setting his sights in Europe. If you still share interest in pushing the infidel Turks from Christian land and securing our borders, rendezvous on the very edge of the great precipices where there lies a chasm with silver threads and where the rivers wind in canyons through the forests._

_I would understand your hesitancy given recent events. However, I desire a trusted ally that shall not partake in double dealing or false promises and to protect Christians from the infidels. Something the current prince and his predecessors have failed to do so. I give you my word none of my men will harm you or your party if you decide to reach the Carpathians._

 

_John Hunyadi, Voivode of Transylvania and Regent of Hungary._

 

If Constantinople falls, the rest of Europe will be vulnerable. It was no secret she and her brother grew up in the Ottoman court alongside Mehmed. She had knowledge of their military tactics and organization. Lada was becoming desperate and Hunyadi knew it, nearly a year wasted attempting to forge alliances with minor nobles and governors had made her reckless. Lada’s response to John Hunyadi had been shorter, her letter also addressed in Latin.

 

_If I find that you do not live by your word my lord, I shall seek retribution. If, however your words are true, I shall do as God directs me._

_Lada Dracul_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lada didn't do it consciously – at least not at first – but she began to avoid Bogdan. Talking to him less, directing orders to Nicolae, or refusing to meet his eye were ways to control her conflicting emotions. She knew what was holding her back, the lost years they could never take back. Her initial joy of having him back into her life led to trepidation: they lost each other once and it could happen again.

Bogdan must have been thinking the same thing because that evening, instead of getting rip-roaring drunk like the others at the inn, he joined Lada by the fireplace.

“Katharina’s very kind for letting us stay at her family’s lodge,” he started, attempting to sound casual.

“Yes,” she answered, “they are generous and humble people. I will reward them in time,” Lada paused, “But I know you did come here to talk about Katharina.”

The pause lengthened into awkwardness.

“How are you?” Bogdan finally asked.

Lada gave him a flat stare, wishing she was strong enough to wrestle him to the ground for such a generic question. As she had done when they were children.

“Due to a few arrogant boyars, I have been forced to go into hiding. Constantly anxious of the next assassination attempt from God knows whom.”

He matched her flat stare with his own, “I know. I killed one of them earlier. And another at Sibiu. I meant how is it being back without Radu.”

Lada stiffened at the mention of his name. Since they left Edirne it became an unspoken rule not to mention Lada’s younger brother, whom by this point had assimilated with the Ottomans by converting to Islam and taking a Turkish wife. At some point, she thought sadly, Radu was lost to me along the way and I could not get him back.

“I should have tried hard–” she started but Bogdan quickly interrupted her.

“You cannot fault yourself for his actions. You're no longer children and Radu is not an idiot, he understood the consequences.”

She nodded slowly, comforted by his logic. “He’s weak-willed when it comes to Mehmed. Everything he does is for him. If he put in the amount of charisma and allure for his own personal gain _he_ would be ruling the empire by now.”

Behind her, Lada could hear Petru and the others were getting into their usual antics. When drunk, they never ceased to amuse her. She looked down at her own pint of ale. Katharina made an unusually strong brew, perhaps that was why she was willing to talk tonight.

“A part of me did not think that I would get this far. One of my biggest fears was to never see Wallachia ever again and now here we are, vagabonds in our own country,” she confessed.

“The biggest mistake they will make is underestimating you,” he said gravely.

“They are the reason for the constant state of unrest in Wallachia. How many princes have they had in the last twenty years? Ten? Fifteen?” Lada couldn't conceal the venom from her voice.

Bogdan stared at her, like she was an equation he couldn’t quite solve. How have the years in the Ottoman Empire changed her? How have they changed him?

“Tell me about when you became a janissary,” she said, dreading his answer. For the longest pause he said nothing. Then, 

“From the moment they seized me I knew it was to hurt you," she must have appeared upset because he quickly added, "It's nothing I blame you for. I wanted to hate the Ottomans. And yet, my life was better than it might have been in Tirgoviste. I knew if I stayed I would’ve had a comfortable, secure life but I had always hoped I would find my way back to my family,” he said, his eyes never wavering from hers. Lada felt her cheeks redden at the implication.

“Nurse didn’t come with us when we left. I don’t know of her whereabouts,” she replied.

Bogdan nodded as if he was expecting that answer, “I know I will find my mother again, just as I knew I would find you. We have each other now.”

One summer, when she was eleven and him thirteen they declared themselves husband and wife. It was a childish game, and they never spoke of their so-called marriage to anyone else. But it was one of the happiest moments of her life. 

“Why are you smiling?” Bogdan asked.

“Remember when you introduced yourself to the sultan as my husband?” Lada asked. It was satisfying seeing the reaction on Mehmed’s face. She thought his jealousy to Bogdan was unnecessary - Mehmed had an entire harem why couldn't she have someone for herself for once?

“And it was the truth,” she continued hastily, noticing Bogdan’s face was carefully blank, “the moment we were on the mountains declaring-”

“I marry you forever and no other,” Bogdan finished for her. He suddenly smiled, “though I hardly think our marriage was validated,” he said, echoing her own words when they were first reunited.

They locked gazes, each knowing what they wanted to say yet not having the courage to address it.

Lada broke the silence first, “Since I was little I knew my own life would revolve around marriage and I always dreaded it. The moment someone would take everything I had for themselves. _”_ She paused carefully, “But if I had to marry anyone it would be you.”

Bogdan smiled shyly, his big ears backlit by the fireplace, “It wouldn't be any different than it is now.”

She hit his shoulder, hard enough for it to hurt.

“You’ve just proven my point.”

“It didn’t need validation. That is like asking if the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”

“All the same,” he remarked, “I know I could never claim you.”

Bogdan’s tone was light and turned to her with a playful smile. Maybe it was the stress of recent events, maybe she was lonely, but Lada felt the tiniest slip of disappointment. She wanted an equal, not someone to subjegate. Bogdan raised an eyebrow in question.

“Most men do not see me as their equal,” she explained, “You were the first person to look at me and not see a girl who was supposed to be pious and meek.”

Bogdan said nothing for a long time that Lada worried he would leave her by the hearth. Just as her trepidation was mounting, he rose out of his seat and placed his lips onto hers. He kissed her softly, the barest brush of his lips, giving her a choice to pull away. Her mouth answered his, lips parting. He pulled her closer, and Lada quarreled within herself for finding a reason, anything to push him away with a sharp retort or a light bruise. She could find none.

Nicolae’s cough stopped them both, he stood in the doorway. “Touching” he drawled, “Would you mind me asking if you can take your little theatricality elsewhere? You’re giving young Petru quite a shock.”

“Forgive me for not remembering _Petru’s_ sensibilities,” she replied. When she passed Nicolae, he grinned and gave them a conspiratorial wink. Lada tried to suppress her amusement. Interlocking Bogdan’s hand with hers, she led him away from the fireplace.

For years she dreaded her wedding night, a mysterious man who would take pleasure in her pain. Bogdan was different. He would never try to rule her, for she was her own person. But she would still honor and respect him.

Lada told him as much, whispering every word against his jawline. He groaned in satisfaction, breathing heavily, his eyes shut in concentration. She didn't have to think anymore and clung to him, breathless and happy. 

Any other man would plot to marry her and throne for themselves, but not Bogdan. She didn't love Bogdan the way she loved Mehmed - which was both a relief and disappointment - but he was loyal and would always be there for her.

They were greedy and selfish and desperately urgent. Lada wrapped her legs around is waist, pleasure overtaking her in waves. He groaned helplessly and surged up against her. Only the rasping of their breath filled the room. Lada felt a dull, tight ache at the pit of her belly. Afterwards they lay in bed, fingers interlaced together. Bogdan's other hand absentmindedly went through her hair, separating the curls. Her eyes grew heavy and for the first time in a long time she didn't have difficulty sleeping.

* * *

The next morning with Bogdan by her side, they left the inn. She refused to let Katharina know where she was travelling to. Lada didn't want to put her at risk. After some persuasion she conceded but not before surprising Lada with a hug. _You are everything Wallachia needs. Don’t let that spark die out,_ Katharina whispered in her ear. Lada took a good look at her, Katharina was very beautiful. Only a few years older than herself and already married with children. Yet, she had a hopefulness about her that refused to be suppressed.

“Katharina, I am glad to have met you,” Lada was surprised to feel how sincerely she meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

February, 1453: Edirne, Ottoman Empire  

Radu knew what was coming. He knew before most of the viziers suspected. For the past several months, Mehmed’s obsession with Constantinople had nearly turned to mania. The sultan had been secretly inviting astrologers and engineers to his palace consulting them from old Byzantine treaties to the proper use of gunpowder. Mehmed had been pouring himself over on the history of Byzantium and always found something worth mentioning to Radu: how the desire for Constantinople was almost as old as Islam itself and how in a thousand years it had been besieged twenty-three times and not fallen once.

That afternoon, when the sultan had personally invited him to his chambers to play chess, Radu’s suspicions were confirmed.

Mehmed’s room was filled with all the extravagance benefitting a sultan. The ceiling was painted in blue and gold script swirls, silk drapes in purple – the color of royalty – hung everywhere. Sitting near the lush pillows was Mehmed himself.

He stood with delight and walked over to give Radu an embrace, “Here you are!”

Radu smiled, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled just to express happiness, not as a false ploy. Especially since his sister left him. _No,_ he thought, _I will not think of her, not today._

Mehmed motioned to one of the plush pillows beside him, “Please, come sit. We have much to discuss.”

Radu knew Mehmed better than anyone else, growing up together he understood his desire for conquest.   _Lada knew him just as well as you. Perhaps more, since he loved her,_ a dark voice whispered in his thoughts. Radu visibly shook his head, his sister’s ghost continued to haunt him daily. Not a day went by when his thoughts didn't turn to his sister. She was cold and cruel but he missed her all the same. Now Mehmed was all he had left.

Mehmed gave him a concerned look and clasped his arm, “Are you alright?”

 Radu waved away his fretting. “I am fine, thank you. Just anticipating for recent news on your plans.” He leaned closer and gave him a brilliant smile for emphasis. Mehmed grinned at him in return.

“Well then, I shall put you out of your misery. I am ready to put my plans for Constantinople to action,” he said gravely, never taking his eyes off Radu, his expression anxious and eager, waiting for a reaction.

Byzantium was the last heir of the Roman Empire, and though it was in decline for decades it still held the prestige of being considered Roman. It was also the jewel of Christendom, strategically located from the Black Sea in the east to Italy in the west. If conquered, Mehmed would truly become God's hand on Earth.

“It’s about time,” was all that Radu could think of to reply.

He must have said what Mehmed had wanted to hear, because his face broke out into a brilliant smile. Radu's heart softened. Mehmed was more handsome when he smiled.

“I know I can do this. I am finally ready to face Constantine and everything has been done in secret so far, but I wanted to tell you first. Everything is prepared for a siege this coming spring. In time, the Mediterranean will become an Ottoman lake.”

Mehmed leaned closer, bringing his face near enough to feel the warm breath on Radu’s lips. Radu made an effort not to gaze towards his full mouth. Mehmed put a hand on his shoulder, the weight of it a strange thrill. Ever since Lada’s departure their interactions have been more – Attentive? Caring? It was hard for Radu to pinpoint but he noticed a difference every time they were alone. “You will go with me won’t you?”

“I have always been at your side and I always will be,” Radu replied automatically. It was the truth.

“Then you must know how carefully I must tread. Not all my advisors believe Constantinople is a good idea.”

 _Halil Pasha doesn’t believe Constantinople is a good idea._ Radu wanted to argue. If the city was captured it would the center of the Ottoman Empire, a stepping stone for any future conquests. The city would open the gateways to Europe. Which was why the Sultan’s Grand Vizier was opposed to any mention of Byzantium, or at least what was left of it.

As if reading his thoughts, Mehmed continued on, “We must convince the rest of my advisors in favor of an attack.”

“That won’t be an easy feat,” he countered. Mehmed shifted uneasily.

“None of this has been Radu,” the sultan finally replied.

* * *

 

“We must make peace with the Byzantines, not coerce them into a war,” argued the Vizier. “If we attack, they could call upon the Venetians or Hungarians for help –”

“The Venetians wouldn’t take that risk and the Hungarians are too busy fighting each other,” interrupted Zagan Pasha. He was one of the newly appointed viziers and loyal to Mehmed which should have put Radu at ease. But he was filled with so much zealous fervor it unnerved him. Compared to the sultan, the young pasha was a paragon of virtue and a living saint in his fanaticism to take Constantinople.

“Don’t you think the Venetians have their own spies? Feeding ours false information to lull us into a sense of security?” snapped the old vizier.

Radu inwardly sighed. Zagan and Halil Pasha had been arguing for at least an hour now, but there was more at stake for each of them. They were feuding to receive the sultan’s favor and to an extent, their own survival. Perhaps Lada and Huma were right, perhaps they should have killed him. The old vizier was becoming unbearable to deal with every day.

That should be Radu as Mehmed's right hand. That should be him as grand vizier.

“Zagan Pasha has a point. Europe won’t band together to defend Constantinople; they’ve become far too secularized. The time to strike is now, ” he interjected. Zagan Pasha looked surprised at Radu's defense while the grand vizier gave him a dark expression.

Mehmed’s demeanor however turned curious. “How so, Radu?” he asked.

“Your people will never be secure as long as the city remains Christian, their meddling has been responsible for prompting disorder for years now. Even now, they demand 600,000 ducats for a pretender to the throne.”

Mehmed had the ghost of a smile on his lips. “It’s as if you took the words out of my mouth,” he said, almost to himself.

The sultan turned to his viziers, “All our available resources must be concentrated. Don’t bother being discreet, it’s time we send a message to the Emperor.” With the gesture of his hand, he dismissed everyone from the throne room.

As he left, Radu’s thoughts wandered to Huma, Mehmed's mother. Before she died she had warned him of the grand vizier’s ties to the Byzantines. She had been ill for a long time and when she died everyone assumed old age finally killed her. But Radu knew better. Mehmed and Huma had never been close, but she was the Valide Sultan, and though they were estranged Mehmed was visibly devastated at the news of her death.

_Halil Pasha is like a spider. To get rid of spiders you don’t kill them immediately, you untangle their web first until they have nothing left to hold on._

Huma had known too much, and her estrangement to her son made her vulnerable. Radu knew it, but he couldn’t do much without evidence. But something crucial happened, something critical. Radu and Zagan Pasha won Mehmed's favor, putting the grand vizier at risk.

As the siege to Constantinople draws nearer, the vizier's time was running out.


	4. Chapter 4

March, 1453: Edirne, Ottoman Empire. Eleven days before the siege.  

He smelled the rosewater perfume before he heard the footsteps.

“I have something to show you,” a distinct female voice said.

Radu paused writing his letter to look up at his wife. Nazira wore a pink veil over her dark hair; her brown eyes appeared pitch black in the candlelight and her full lips, usually upturned with wry amusement, was set into a serious line.

He paused, “Nazira, what’s–” She put her delicate hand up to silence him. He saw her pull out a letter from the layers of her dress. The letter was worn as if it had been handled many times; but what piqued his curiosity was the broken seal. It was the royal blue seal of the Byzantine Emperor.

Radu was about to retort that a letter wasn’t worth interrupting him until he read the correspondence inside.

_The Janissaries will rebel again. This time with greater success._

Radu read the letter again and again, committing each word to memory before burning it. He almost wanted to laugh. Huma Hatun– that cunning old woman – had been right all along. It was damming evidence against the vizier. But his smile died when he re-read the last part.

Again. Again.

The word echoed in his mind. The janissaries first revolted almost a year ago and Mehmed and Lada had nearly died because of that. His friend Lazar had died but not because of the janissaries. Lazar was the closest thing he had to a friend, and when he betrayed him, Radu returned that betrayal with the edge of his sword. 

“Nazira, where did you get this?” _And why would you show me of all people?_ he added silently. He and Nazira were tenuous allies at best, but Radu knew too well how often alliances fell apart.

“Kumal gave it to me,” was all she said.

At his silence, she tried to elaborate further. “I don’t know what to do with that sort of information, which is why I gave it to you. You’ll figure out something.”

 _She is nothing if not loyal to her brother,_ Radu mused. He wished he could say the same about his own sister. 

“You should have left it with Kumal Pasha,” he said flatly.

“My brother is an honorable man; he has no instinct for deception and certainly can’t recognize it in other people.”

Radu ran his fingers along the edges of his turban, tugging at it. Nazira reached up, taking his fingers in her own. Her hands cold as ice. What she said was true: Kumal Pasha was trusting to a fault and they were playing a dangerous game. “I worry about you,” she said softly.

Saints, how many times were they going to have this conversation?

“Nazira,” Radu hissed, “I cannot talk about this right now.”

He wished he could confide in her. In the month since he learned of the plans for Constantinople, Radu had not seen the sultan once. He wondered if anything changed he wasn't privy to. 

“Never! You always say ‘this isn’t the right time’ or ‘I have business elsewhere.’ You don’t have to do this to yourself! You and I both know staying here won’t make you happy.”

“Then why did you give me this?” he flailed the letter to her veiled face. Nazira's dark eyes were worth with fury.

“Because I don’t think you understand what we’re facing against. I don’t like the grand vizier and maybe Sultan Mehmed doesn’t either, but he is more powerful than us. He’s already eliminated the Valide Sultan, what's to stop him from eliminating anyone?”

Radu wanted to soothe her fears. He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter if Halil Pasha had more allies if theirs could outwit and outmaneuver. But at that moment a servant girl burst into the room looking wild and panicked.

“What is it?” He snapped.

“ _Beyefendi_. _Hanımefendi –”_ the servant gasped, trying to catch her breath. “Kumal Pasha has been found in his chambers. There is blood everywhere!” Radu suddenly became attuned to everything around him: his heartbeat, Nazira's choked gasp, his labored breathing. He had the sensation of the ground moving beneath his feet. His ears buzzed with air in the still room. 

Kumal, who had been kind to him and shown him compassion when no one else had.

Kumal, who had given Radu his blessing to marry his beautiful sister.

His brother-in-law, dead.

He tried to breathe but the air wouldn’t come fast enough. Nazira was worse, her face was deathly pale. She slowly walked to the drawers – Radu behind her – and with shaking hands held the Koran in front of her, as if demanding answers from it. He caught her just as she fainted in his arms.

Halil Pasha was involved, Radu knew that for certain. The vizier has been eliminating Radu’s supporters since Huma died. With Kumal’s death, Radu thought coolly, Nazira will ally with him completely – if only for revenge. The click and gears were turning inside his head and he had another idea, one that would eliminate the vizier.

Radu was startled out of his thoughts by Nazira, he quickly removed the veil from he face. She looked deathly pale and her eyes were wide and brimming with unshed tears.

"Make him pay," she whispered.

Radu kissed her forehead, "We both will."

* * *

 

Tears streamed down Nazira’s cheeks as she wept silently. Before he could stop himself, Radu held her tightly and murmured assurances that she probably couldn't hear above her sobs. It pained him to see her look so utterly defeated. 

The tomb was empty except for him, Nazira and Fatima. It wasn’t fitting that Kumal, one of the most honorable men Radu knew, to be buried in such a decrepit place. The Sultan was generous enough giving him a private tomb, but with the campaign under way soon, there wasn’t much money to spare, not even for a pasha.

Radu hated himself for it but he knew he would have to leave Nazira as well.

He glanced at Fatima, _please take care of her,_ he asked silently _. I will_ , she mouthed back. He hung his shoulders. He hated to leave them both, but Mehmed needed him at his side.

Constantinople, the last stronghold of the once glorious Byzantine Empire. An empire that’s dying off quickly. But not quick enough for Mehmed.

The campaign should be relatively short, he assured Nazira. When she said nothing, he added, it’s more than enough time for me to kill everyone you want, he added teasingly.

 _I don’t want you to kill everyone_ , she replied simply, _just one in particular._

Halil Pasha. They never spoke of him anymore, but his shadow was inescapable. Even if he was successful eliminating the vizier, what then? Would his future entail spending the rest of his life never able to act on his feelings for Mehmed? It would never be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beyefendi roughly translates as "my lord" and Hanımefendi as "my lady."


	5. Chapter 5

Transylvania

The first time Lada viewed John Hunyadi’s lofty, gothic palace, she could not help but be impressed. She heard the castle was one of his more important hallmarks and it clearly showed with its stone balconies and myriad windows. His castle had more grandeur than most back in Tirgoviste.

Lada couldn't decide whether to hate the man or respect him. He was responsible for her father’s death and allowing a rival prince to take Wallachia. But if her father hadn’t been a weak leader, he and her brother Mircea would still be alive and those insufferable Danesti’s wouldn’t be in power. Hunyadi was everything her father was supposed to be.

She went into the knight’s room, without weapons or her men as was agreed upon. Despite their continued protests of a possible trap, she reasoned if Hunyadi wanted her ransomed or dead she would be by now. _Not yet,_ she reminded herself. If Stefan's intelligence was right... No, that was a task for Bogdan and Nicolae to take care of once she secured a bargain from Hunyadi. _If_ she secured a bargain.

The first thing she noticed in the knight’s room were the striking, vaulted ceilings. Along the walls hung various portraits of Hunyadi’s family -  of him, his wife, his sons. At the center of it was the coat of arms, a crow with a golden ring in its beak.

John Hunyadi sat at the end of the room in a chair, although he occupied it as if it were a throne. He was of medium height, with dark brown eyes and a large forehead. She had seen him once many years ago, younger and more confident. He still radiated confidence but his eyes were jaded. This was a man who had seen and been through too much. He eyed her thoughtfully.

“Lada Dracul. Daughter of Vlad Dracul. Daughter of a man who let his children become hostages as a token of loyalty. Then sacrificing them by sending aid at Varna-”

She managed to keep her temper in check by imaging herself slitting his throat.

“A battle in which you failed,” she finished for him, ignoring his face flushing red with either anger or embarrassment she did not know, nor did she particularly care. “Since then, there has been no united effort to rid the infidel Turks from our lands and they are planning to invade Constantinople as we speak.”

“Yes, yes.” He waved his left hand dismissively, “I know of the sultan’s desire to take the ancient city. What intrigues me though, is that you knew of this before anyone else. You once wrote to me that the zealot was fixated on taking the blessed city and now, years later what you have foretold is coming true.”

“I grew up at the Ottoman court alongside the sultan. I know the way his mind works, I know the ways he plans to conquer the rest of Europe in time.” But he already knew this, why else would he write to her to rendezvous at his own castle? Hunyadi was silent, wanting for her to continue.

When she didn’t he answered for her, “If the city falls my country will be vulnerable to the Ottomans.”

“As will mine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “If I recall correctly the sultan made you prince on a piece of paper. Not going so well is it?”

Lada met his challenge, she had prepared for this. Keeping a carefully neutral expression, she did her best impression of Radu. “Crowns don’t give people power, armies do. A strong Wallachia would mean secure Hungarian borders.” At his silence, she pushed on, “you do not think I will be accepted from the boyars?” she challenged.

“I give it fairly low chances. It's a pity you're a girl.” Hunyadi replied.

She was silent for a moment, careful of her next response. “Yet I have enough of a chance to be a better ruler than the current usurper that occupies the throne. Enough to make the boyars accept me by whatever means necessary.”

“Did you know what kind of man your father was?” he asked rather pointedly.

“The kind of man who sacrificed his children for a false crown and who swore to fight the infidels yet made peace with them. A man who let the Ottomans move freely through his country, just like the current prince does. Yes, I knew exactly the kind of man he was.” Lada did not give him a chance to speak, he needed her country to act as a buffer state. Albeit, he viewed her as a puppet but that was a trouble for another day. 

Hunyadi assessed her for a long time as if coming to a decision and Lada knowing the outcome.

“Even though I give your claim fairly low chances of succeeding,” he started, “I know you could be a better ruler than your father and his predecessors. I will send a small force of Saxon foot soldiers along with you and your Wallachian janissaries to Tirgoviste. If you succeed in becoming prince, I expect military aid when my son Matthias becomes king.”

 _I am in Stefan's debt,_ she thought, _his reports were right._ Lada also noted Hunyadi said _when_ not _if._ Since his failure at Varna his hopes for ruling Hungary were defeated and now she was just a small part of his larger ambitions to put his son on the throne instead. 

Lada saw no advantage to lying, “ _If_ your son gets out of his imprisonment and by some miracle convinces the nobility to elect him king, he can expect my full support,” she answered pointedly.

She jolted in surprise at his sudden laughter,“You are not your father’s daughter.” He looked so much younger when he smiled. 

“If I was, I would be dead by now.” Lada felt relief and foreboding simultaneously. He was a dangerous man to cross. As long as he’s alive there will always be the possibility of him supporting a new, rival claimant to overthrow her as well. _One stepping stone at a time,_ she thought to herself, _he is a problem for later._

John Hunyadi stood up, as did she. He crossed over the room to her until he was standing inches apart from her, “Be careful," he said seriously, "You were made for fighting on battlefields, not through courts. Don't start wars you can't win." 

Oddly enough, she realized, he reminded her of Huma, Mehmed's mother. Intelligent and cunning in their own right, but too proud to realized when they had been defeated. She was not sure whether to be relieved or offended that he had underestimated her so easily.

Since her father and brother were too weak to defend themselves in life, it was up to her to avenge their deaths. She smiled at Hunyadi, "Let there be no doubt that I am the prince of Wallachia. And only God will separate me from the throne." 

He knelt and kissed her hand as if she were an empress, "May God be with you." 

Lada left the knight's room, her smile disappearing. He was right about one thing though - she was made for victory in battle, not politics. Then again, that's why she had her own spies. With everything falling into place, it was time to go home. 


	6. Chapter 6

“You will be judged. In this life or the next for what you have done,” the man’s body was shaking, but his voice was strong and confident. Lada had singled him out to eliminate herself because he was the captain.

Once the Saxons were confident enough they were far away enough from Hunyadi’s castle, they attempted to assassinate her, which is a strong word in it of itself. Even if Lada hadn’t received Stefan’s reports, any idiot would figure out a trap. The fact that Hunyadi thought she would fall for it infuriated her to no end. _May devil take him and his damned country,_ she thought.

She eyed all of Hunyadi’s soldiers, the soldiers meant to kill her and her men. When they left the castle they were proud and smug, confident they could eliminate a girl trying to play soldier. Now they all knelt in a row; bound, meek and trembling. _They were all cowards_.

Lada approached the man and smiled in delight when she noticed his sudden pallor. She traced her dagger over the blue veins in his throat. “I’ll tell you a secret your priests and lords won’t admit, Captain,” she whispered against his ear, “everyone’s equal when they’re dead.” And she slit his throat with the precision of a butcher.

It was merciful; the captain didn’t live long enough to react. Blood sputtered everywhere. On her face, her chain mail shirt – Lada didn’t care. It soaked the frozen ground beneath her feet. She motioned to Bogdan who immediately came to her side.

“The rest of the men?” she asked.

“All dead. We didn’t suffer any casualties. They weren’t expecting the ambush and Saxon soldiers aren’t well-trained anyways,” she could almost hear a trace of smugness. John Hunyadi was her last hope for any foreign allies, and with him gone she was free to destroy anything and everything in retribution. Now she knew she would have to win exclusively by the help of her own people. 

Brasov was well-protected, but even it was vulnerable to rumors and fearmongering. Gossip spread louder than wildfire. From her vantage point in the hills, she could see guards running frantically as the arrows went over the city’s stone walls. She didn’t have the numbers to conquer the city, but she had enough to punish it.

As the rooftops burned and people fled their homes screaming, Lada’s smile grew cold and vicious. These days, most villages and towns surrendered to her on sight. But Brasov was not another trifling village, it was an established and fortified city under John Hunyadi’s domain.  She sent her message in Hungarian, not caring whose spies intercepted it.

_I gave a fair warning I would seek retribution. You did not live by your word, and Brasov will pay dearly for that. Anyone who stands in my way will die screaming._

_Lada Dracul_

She hoped he was still alive. It was clever really, something Radu would be proud of. Why kill Hunyadi with a sword when she could send a plague? She sent the most disease-ridden peasants to his front lines and now, it was said the old man lay dying. Sometimes, she wished she had her brother’s gift for charming people with sweet words or a smile. Still, she didn't need him. That's what she told herself whenever she thought of Radu, and every day that's what she had to remind herself. 

Stefan suddenly came to her side, saying something unintelligible. She had sent him on a secret rendezvous to eliminate her rival before she went to meet Hunyadi. Stefan had always been to most mysterious of her men. Whether that ambiguity came from being a spymaster or his obscure past, she never asked.

When he repeated himself, she couldn’t hide her glee. _The rival prince’s family is dead_ , Lada thought triumphantly. She kept her eyes fixed on the smoke surrounding the city. Her callous gaze took in the ruination. It was filled with pandemonium and madness, people running around in confusion. The city was hardly damaged, but panic spread faster than any army and caused much more havoc.

Her attack on Brasov will pale in comparison to how she plans to punish Tirgoviste.

Tirgoviste represented everything that was wrong with her country, an apt representation of Wallachia – powerless and inept.

She understood the need for a seat of power, but hated the capital nonetheless. Once she became prince, she would build a fortress up in the mountains far away from the courts she hated. A fortress larger than anyone has dared to achieve, one to secure the passageways between Transylvania and the Carpathians. It would be better than Tirgoviste. Anything would be better than Tirgoviste.


	7. Chapter 7

 May, 1453:  ~~~~Constantinople

They laid siege to the city for fifty-three days. When they weren’t fighting, Radu’s routine consisted of prayer,sleep and more prayer. His body ached, but he didn’t mind. Islam gave him a home, an outlet for all his frustrations, his sorrows and his loneliness.

After seven weeks of fighting both sides were wearing thin. It became a battle of who could maintain the morale of their soldiers the longest. Mehmed publicly prayed towards Mecca every day, asking God for victory against the enemies of the faith. The Emperor, he had heard, paraded icons of the Virgin Mary around the city. The Byzantines prayed to Mary for protection but she had deserted them. 

 _We will besiege their city until they have nothing left, and come to us begging for mercy,_ Mehmed had told him. 

Time was a luxury they could not afford. If they hadn't conquered the city by summer, there would have been risk of rebellion from the soldiers. Thankfully, it appeared God was on their side.  

When the city fell, panicked citizens fled to the Horn. Venetian ships were sailing away from the city and the exit was barred. Many people drowned trying to reach the ships. Desperate mothers flung their newborns hoping it would land on the ships. He saw lifeless infants floating along the waters. Those unlucky to die became slaves.

In some parts, the bodies were piled so high he had to climb over them. But he didn’t have time to think or feel, all he could do was kill. So, he did, again and again and even when grew weary he kept on going, knowing that if he slowed down he would be next on the pile of bodies. In the chaos of the battle nothing else mattered.

Finally, when the attack receded did Mehmed appear. Radu could have cried out in relief, or anger or despair, he didn’t know. He was too exhausted to process anything. When Mehmed asked him to ride alongside him he did. In spite of everything, Mehmed was still his oldest friend and Radu would not give up that friendship. 

He rode through the streets in a daze, startled listening to Turkish instead of Greek. Looking around, it was hard for Radu to imagine this place as the jewel of Christendom. Truth be told, he was half-expecting the city to be paved in gold. Rationally, he knew it wasn't true but he had been expecting something ... more. Along with the bodies, human waste filled the streets. From what he could remember as a child, even Wallachia looked better than this. 

Constantinople lived under siege for almost all its life. The structure of defenses went back to Greek and Roman architecture and had changed little since. It hadn’t needed to before...

But perhaps that will finally change. Right now, it was hard to think of Constantinople and not think of his fallen comrades. Men died trying to take the city in the name of Islam. Good men. A small comfort was knowing their deaths had not been in vain. Radu looked to Mehmed, who hadn’t said a word during the entire procession. He looked back and his eyes were so broken it tore Radu to pieces.

“What a city we’ve committed to ruin,” Mehmed muttered sadly, more to himself than anyone else. Constantinople now belonged to the dead, and all the remaining living were trespassers. 

Nothing sacred was left. God had abandoned them all. He now understood what it took to be a part of something bigger than himself, and he never wanted to do that again. No amount of prayers could undo all his sins. 

 

* * *

 

When the grand vizier was executed the day after the city fell, Radu wasn’t surprised. He hated surprises and wasn’t one to waste his time.

What he was surprised, however, was Mehmed announcing the new grand vizier – and it wasn’t him. Sure, Mehmed gave him a new title, he was officially Radu Pasha now but nothing else. 

Radu couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had spied for Mehmed; he had killed for him. He would have done it all and more if asked. _Perhaps that’s why you aren’t vizier,_ his thoughts whispered, _he knew you would do anything for him regardless_. That was 

His thoughts wandered into a series of what if’s. Then the most disturbing thought came to mind: _What if Lada was here?_

Bitterness so heavy he could taste it welled within Radu, and he turned to leave. Tears of frustration clouded his eyes but he refused to cry. He wasn't sure who exactly to be angry at. Mehmed will become a great sultan, better than all his predecessors, and death will follow him like a shadow because of that. As for his sister...

Lada left him behind and he owed her nothing. Radu knew she still didn’t have the throne, but she would soon enough. He held no love for Wallachia, but he still loved her.

The letter was difficult to write. He hadn’t communicated with her in almost a year. He burned the first attempt because it was too formulaic and the second because it was to personal. Finally, he settled for a mixture of both. 

 _To Lada, my only sister,_ he wrote,

_Constantinople has fallen. The grand vizier has been executed. Already, his new vizier, Zagan Pasha is talking Mehmed about conquests into Europe. You cannot rely on him for help, Mehmed was hoping you failed so you would come crawling back. Look to Hungary for help. Their new king – Matthias – is Hunyadi’s son. I know Hunyadi deceived you in the past, but I’ve heard his son is a different sort._

_Your brother, Radu Pasha_

He  _knew._ Mehmed had always known his feelings towards him and knew Radu would have done anything for him. Radu needed Mehmed to recognize his value - not someone to exploit. Lada was always more a blunt instrument than a finely tuned arrow, and he would use her against Mehmed. 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Summer, 1453: Wallachia 

Killing the prince’s heirs meant his return to Tirgoviste was sooner than expected. They used the cover of darkness to ambush the castle, spreading like a storm cloud.

Lada had considered slipping out and making it on her own but her clinging doubt made her stop. What if she remembered the castle wrong? She hadn't seen Tirgoviste since she was a child and children's memories were unreliable. Lada couldn’t risk it; she had come too far to lose now.

However, word about her reputation must’ve spread faster and taken more effect on the people than she thought; for when she rode outside the city gates the guards looked at each other, unsure what to do.

“Interesting,” she murmured to no one in particular. Bogdan, who rode at her side and closest to her, nodded in agreement. Rumors spread to the camp that Tirgoviste was recovering from a particularly bad outbreak of the plague, perhaps it was worse than she thought.

She raised her voice so everyone could hear, “Open the gates, those on my side shall be rewarded. Deliver my terms to every solider you see; they won’t be offered again.”

The city gates opened almost immediately, that was easier than she expected. Lada had been prepared to kill some of her people. She preferred it better this way.

The people didn’t cheer her procession but neither were they hostile. Most huddled close to themselves, murmuring so quiet she could not hear them. Bogdan looked uneasy. She shook her head at him. This was her country and these were her people; she didn't need approval from them and refused to cower. Some of the children were laughing and staring curiously at her soldiers while the adults looked warier. But they all had the same worn, haggard look to them.

 _I will make things right,_ she vowed. Within the walls, homes were painted in a bright variety of colors like she remembered from her childhood. But the stench of human waste and masses of the poor and elderly were new sights. Many beggars had begun to build hovels against the walls to the castle itself. The Ottoman Empire, for all its flaws, had never had its citizens in poverty. A man could walk from one end of the Ottoman Empire to another with sacks of gold and never fear being robbed. 

She rode towards the castle doors and barely stopped to calm her horse before entering. Even as a child, she never felt safe here. The castle was cold, its walls thin and windows almost nonexistent. Everything in the castle screamed it was a trap. She could almost forgive her horse for being so spooked. Almost. 

It had taken cutting through plague-infested corpses to get to the castle, the smell of carrion never far behind. It couldn't be this easy, she told herself before baring to the throne room. There was no excuse for a rival prince's behavior. He did not even give her the honor of putting an effort to defend his people. Which meant he was either setting a trap or even more incompetent than she thought. 

The Danesti prince wasn’t what she was expecting. She would expect for him to be nervous about another rival entering his capital without resistance. Instead, she found a middle-aged man dining as if his people weren’t starving, as if the county wasn’t starving. Lada growled in rage and pulled out her sword. The prince cried out to is guards, but, conveniently, none moved toward him. They all looked young, some close to her age. One of them she presumed to be their leader bent down on one knee and sheathed his sword. The others followed like dominoes. Her terms were delivered to every solider, after all. 

The prince instinctively jerked back, but he recovered quickly. He swung his sword toward Lada's neck with all the skill of an untrained youth. The room grew too hot, she had to end this now before the soldiers had second thoughts. Lada saw hesitation on his left side and seized her opening. Their swords clashed, and Lada shoved her blade up along the prince's until the hilt caught. Then she disabled him with a kick to the knees. The prince tried scramble towards the door but Lada pulled out her knives and thrust into his body. She pulled her knives out and cleaned them with a white handkerchief, now stained crimson.  

Lada looked to the guards who still hadn’t moved, she motioned with a jerk of her chin, “Put his body on a stake, everyone needs to know who rules Wallachia now.”

She looked at the trail of blood left from the prince’s body being dragged away. Saints, how long would it take cleaning the mess? No matter how many men she killed it never ceased to amaze her how much blood is contained in one body. 

Nicolae and Bogdan entered, their weapons raised at the guards. Lada motioned them to disarm. Following them, a group of people she had never seen before stare at her incredulously. From their larger weight and finer clothes Lada knew these were the boyars.

They must’ve been hiding in the castle, she realized, and not their manors as she had previously thought. Lada's incredulity turned into seething rage. They were like an illness, one that had gone on for far too long. The boyars claimed land and wealth through family name, yet her own bloodline was superior. She was Lada Dracul, daughter of the dragon. Dragon and Devil alike, for her family name had both meanings.  Thinking about that made her feel much better. 

Slowly, one by one, they fall into a knee and proclaim their loyalty to her as their new prince. They were like sheep, and she, their shepherd, would soon lead them to slaughter. 

“All hail Lada Dracul!” they shouted. 

Lada closed her eyes and warmth spread through her. All her sacrifices had not been in vain. After all these years, Wallachia was finally hers. She was the prince. She was home.

* * *

“Katharina Siegel, your Highness,” announced the guard, Lada motioned to send her in.

The first thing Lada noticed was her distinctive red hair, the second her plumpness – she was pregnant. Katharina strode into the throne room, her head bent down and curtsying with the grace of a noblewoman. She held herself with an unusual amount of restrained grace.

“How does it feel being prince?” she inquired, the wavering voice betraying her nervousness. Oh, she was bold – speaking to Lada before being addressed. But then again, the only thing Katharina probably feared was the wrath of God.

Lada bit the inside of her left cheek; she could almost taste the copper with the tip of her tongue. She stared at Katharina and wondered if there was a right answer. Should she feel regal? Holy? Magnificent?

Lada stretched across her throne, the faintest hints of a frown. The stone room felt empty and cold, an apt reminder of all the princes who came before her, all who has sat on the same throne. She had cut open her heart and offered it as sacrifice for Wallachia and now it was no softer than steel.

 _Steel can rust or melt_ , a dark voice whispered into her mind.

“I don’t feel anything at all,” she replied. Katharina developed a keen interest in the stone floor.  “Why do you refuse to look me in the eye? You may speak freely,” Lada said.

Katharina flinched at her words as if she was slapped.

“Look at me,” she ordered. Katharina slowly raised her head, and different shades of blues and purples surrounded her collarbone and neck. Lada suddenly felt her body become cold.

“Did your husband do this to you?” Her voice was as cold as the winter snow.

“I-I, no. He is a good man, your Highness,” again, the little hitch in Katharina’s voice. She was always a terrible liar. Lada cocked an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation but Katharina remained silent. She huffed in frustration. How would Radu coerce someone to talk?

“Katharina,” she said softly, “I give you my word no harm will come to you or your children. I have always relied upon you to be truthful. Tell me what happened.” Even Lada was stirred by her impression. No wonder Radu got what he wanted from people so easily.

“It- it isn’t every day, but it’s every time he drinks,” Katharina eventually admitted quietly.

“He must beat you a lot since you sell ale for a living,” Lada replied, her voice cold. Katharina mentioned her husband was away on business. No wonder she seemed too bright and happy the last time she saw her.

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble –” she silenced her. Katharina was one of the first people to help her before she took the throne and Lada never forgot she was in her debt. 

“Would you like to annul the marriage, Katharina? It is within my power.”

She flushed a bright red, clashing with her hair color. “Divorce? That is against God’s laws.”

Lada pondered, she’d like nothing more than to impale the man herself, but it wasn’t about what she wanted – it was about what Katharina needed.

“What if he was suddenly taken from this world? Through no fault of your own – our Lord works in mysterious ways after all. For your compensation and grief, I would offer you a place in court. Your child will be educated and live in comfort.”

Katharina met her eyes directly with a slight smile betraying her expression. She saw the ghost of what must have once been a spirited girl. A spunky and sprightly girl who wasn’t afraid of her husband’s shadow.

“I can live with my grief,” she replied, blue eyes sparkling in wicked delight. Lada and Katharina smiled at each other, and it was the most exhilarating and terrifying thing she’d ever seen.


	9. Chapter 9

1454: Constantinople, Ottoman Empire. One Year After Conquest. 

The Wallachian diplomats arrived late and with no tribute. Radu had expected Lada to appoint Nicolae or another favorite as ambassadors but it was a dangerous job akin to that of a poison taster. She valued her soldiers more than he thought. The two men were odd-looking, not physically but the way they held themselves. Both were middle aged and kept the traditional boyar style of long beard rather than the fashionable clean-shaved look of European courts. It was as if they belonged in another era.

It had been no small feat getting them to come. Radu may admit through gritted teeth the Sultan's new grand vizier was better than the last, but diplomacy was not Zagan Pasha's strong suit. A zealot in nature, the new vizier saw the world as black and white but Radu convinced Mehmed it was wiser maintaining relations with vassal states. The fact the grand vizier refused to come made Radu's victory all the sweeter.

The Sultan’s smile was cold toward the men. They did not know each other, Radu figured. “And why is there no tribute this year?” he asked politely.

Both men bowed low and the one with a longer beard replied, “We send our deepest apologies on behalf of our prince. The treasury in Tirgoviste is drained from the burden of maintaining the citizenry. We would have arrived weeks earlier, but there has been a recent transition in power.” That was a very diplomatic way of saying Wallachia was bankrupt from all its civil wars.

Mehmed nodded gravely in understanding and offered his congratulations for the new prince. He did not, however, call the new prince by her name. The Sultan never said Lada's name anymore and forbade anyone else to speak of her. After a brief conversation, the men left the large throne room. That went quicker than he thought. Too quick. The Sultan was silent for a few moments after the Wallachians left.

“Her treasury is not drained,” Mehmed said coldly.

Radu became acutely aware of his breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Had Mehmed found out? He was so careful, contacting his sister in secret. The Sultan pulled out a crinkled and worn letter with the broken seal of a crow. The seal of the Matthias Corvinus. Radu could have cried in relief.

“She made an alliance with the Hungarians,” Mehmed’s voice was dangerously calm, “Corvinus wants a military alliance but why stop there?” His laugh was humorless, eyes of mirth but his expression wretched. “They are both young, unmarried and their countries are right next to each other –” Mehmed stopped himself. Radu watched the movement of his hands and listened to the rhythm of his breathing to know when he calmed down, it was less than a minute.

The Sultan’s finger traced over Lada’s name. “She has been prince almost as soon after I had Constantinople, yet she has been stalling tribute for months.” The Sultan crumbled the letter into his fist.

“Lada despises marriage, you know this,” Radu protested. But even he had doubts. Lada and Matthias were secretly betrothed as children - much to her anger -  but he and his sister were taken as hostages by Mehmed’s late father, Sultan Murad II, to ensure their father’s loyalty to the empire.

The Sultan was not hearing any of it, he was in his own world, “She could have ruled beside me as Empress! Instead she chooses the son of a farmer!”

It was true that John Hunyadi had humble origins, but he made a name for himself as Hungary’s supreme military commander and he passed on that prestige to his children. Radu wondered how on earth Matthias Corvinus fared. The young king’s position was partly due to his father’s accomplishments and his older brother’s death. Radu knew what it was like having power slip through your fingers. It happened to his own family, before Lada restored it.

He hated to antagonize Mehmed, but he had to say the next words, “Despite their family’s humble origins, he has succeeded in being elected King.”

Mehmed rounded on him, like a wounded beast ready to charge, “Matthias Corvinus,” he spat out, “is young and naïve. Controlling him should not be too difficult.” His friend was visibly conflicted, and all Radu wanted was to comfort him and assure him everything would work out in the end.

But he did not. Instead he watched and waited until Mehmed would inevitably ask for his advice. When he did, he asked Radu everything he knew about Hunyadi and his connection to Wallachia. None of Mehmed's other advisor could give him the wealth of information he alone possessed. An alliance between Wallachia and Hungary was something the Ottomans could not allow. Such a shame that Zagan Pasha, the new grand vizier, had that information slip though his fingers. There was no real reason to wait as long as he had, prolonging the first of many undoings upon his rival. But the anticipation was delicious, and now Radu would reap the rewards. 

“All I know is that before we came to Edirne, the boyars were considering a betrothal due to Hunyadi’s successes against your father,” Radu said carefully. The Sultan nodded, he called his envoys into the throne room. Radu dreaded what was to come, knowing what he had just done, but empty of regrets. Even when they were children, he always felt like they fought over him to chose their side. Lada and Mehmed have no worse enemy than themselves; his sister's pride and his friend's greed.

Closing his eyes, he could picture his sister vividly the last time he saw her: wild and defiant. Even thought they were siblings, they looked nothing alike. Lada was not very beautiful. Her features were rather distinct, almost predatory. Her straight, dark hair contrasted her pale skin, making it look almost sickly; she had high cheekbones and arched brows that made her look perpetually cross. Even her eyes reminded him of the caged tigers brought from India – lovely to gaze from afar, but dangerous to go near **.** Lada was Mehmed's first love and he hers, but they loved their ambitions above all else. 

Radu remembered Tohin's words coming back to haunt him, _The world will destroy her in the end. Too much spark leads to explosions. But your sister will destroy as much as she can before she goes out._ Kill one and you become a murderer, but kill millions and you are a conqueror. His absolute loyalty was to Mehmed, but even now his traitorous thoughts wondered if he chose right. 

The envoys bowed low before Sultan Mehmed. “Majesty,” they said in unison. 

“Bring me a full report from Tirgoviste. I want to know what exactly is going on up north." 

 

`````````````````````````````````````````

 

Radu went back to his chambers re-reading Lada’s letter, carefully touching the red-black seal of the Dracul family. It was this letter he had been afraid Mehmed discovered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a striking mint-colored scarf entering his chambers. Nazira. She was fond of wearing bright and unusual colors. Ever since Kumal’s death she has become his most trusting ally. Spy, administrator, advisor, friend. Nazira’s father died when she was a girl and with her brother gone, Radu was all she had left. When Nazira came up behind him reading over his shoulder he did not reprimand her, she had a right to know.

_My husband is dead and I have no son. I refuse to remarry, but the boyars are like pit vipers – each one deadlier than the last. This time I am on the cracking ice, and I need your hand this time before I drown._

Husband? Radu thought incredulously. For all he’d known her, Lada was against marriage, often proclaiming she would never be a wife. It had to be Bogdan she was talking about; he was the only person Lada would be willing to marry.

But that obviously cost him his life. It was one thing for the boyars to accept a female ruler but to marry a commoner was unacceptable. Though why she would risk corresponding in Turkish was beyond him. He did not suffer from delusions, but as time went on the line between friend and foe became blurred. Radu and Lada have had this secret communication going on for the past year, she asked for political advice and he asked how to intimidate his enemies. 

“She was smart to leave Mehmed,” he said to Nazira after a long moment of silence, “Sometimes I think I should’ve gone with her. She can be cruel but she hates deception.” He handed his wife the letter, which she threw into the hearth. 

“You two balance each other, you’re a courtier and she’s a soldier.”

He regarded her for a moment unsure of what to say. It echoed almost word for word what Mehmed told him when they were discussing the delayed payment of the janissaries’ weeks ago. Nazira kept her eyes above his, concentrating her gaze at his turban.

“You and I know there is no future for us here,” she said quietly, “My brother is gone. Wherever you go, Fatima and I will follow.”

“There is no future in Wallachia either! I was miserable there, Lada and I actually got closer after we became royal hostages.” He rubbed his hand against his forehead, “I don’t belong here or there. ”

Nazira wrapped her arms around him and he leaned against her. They stayed like that for a long time, neither of them moving, speaking, only the rhythmic sounds of their breathing. “I’m going to go pray,” he murmured quietly. She nodded, letting him go. He was surprised by the kiss Nazira suddenly planted on his forehead. 

A terrifying thought came to him halfway to his destination. If Lada died childless, he would be expected to take the crown. That was her underlying message. Mehmed would most likely take away any sons she might have and place them as royal hostages like he did with the Byzantine princes. Or he might execute them out of spite.

Radu found was he was looking for a few blocks outside the royal residences. Hagia Sophia, the jewel of Constantinople, sat empty in the late afternoon. He had heard stories as a child that it was so beautiful and magnificent, it converted the Kievan Rus to Christianity. Soon it will be converted to a mosque but he hopes Mehmed will have the foresight to keep some of the Byzantine architecture. Radu prayed until a veil of peace settled over his chaotic mind. Whatever happened next, he had God. 


	10. Chapter 10

Easter Sunday 1455:  Tirgoviste, Wallachia

 

It was a terrible waste of Moldavian wine. Lada regretted wasting the best European wine but if the boyars were to die tonight, it was her duty as prince to give them a magnificent last supper. 

She berates herself for writing to Radu all those months ago. A temporary lapse of judgement. A moment of weakness, if Bogdan hadn’t… No. Lada would not dwell on that. Bogdan was poisoned because she delayed killing the boyars. She can never forgive herself for that hesitation, for listening to Nicolae and her other so-called advisors. Mercy was the one thing she could not afford. Lada would bear the repercussions just to avenge his death. She had absolute power. Despite their grumblings, the boyars believed in her divine right to rule. Perhaps it was God, perhaps it was the Devil. Either way, she carved her own future through victory.

One of the younger boyars from the Basarab family toasts to her reign and good fortune. Lada smiled, not because she is moved by his rhapsodies of praise but over the man’s blatant lie. ‘Good fortune’ meant future offspring.

It was one of the only reasons they agreed to let her take the throne. The boyars resented being ruled by a woman and their only respite was a male prince succeeding her. Lada knew they wanted her to marry Hunyadi’s son, but she would rather leave Wallachia in ruination than see it under any foreign ruler.

“How many princes have you had?” Her cool voice echoed through the curved stone walls, “In the last twenty years can any of you count how many?” None of them gave her a proper answer. Most said around ten to fifteen. Others guessed as little as five and a few claimed one for every two years. Lada’s mouth twitched the ghost of a smile; the boyars have doomed themselves. Her smile was Death, promising it to those who saw it.

Lada banged her firsts on the wooden table, hard enough to draw blood. She looked over to see her men entering the room and blocking all the wooden doors, Nicolae’s grim face among them. They had gone back and forth arguing about it the night before the feat.

_“They are people, Lada,” Nicolae had hissed at her. “Families with children and livelihoods. These are innocent children.”_

_“Yes,” she agreed reluctantly, “but they won’t remain children forever.”_

_“You once told me some lives are worth more than others. How many deaths before the scales tip out of our favor?”_

_She had no answer for that._

Now, she gazed at each one of them, memorizing their faces. How many of them were there when her father was poisoned? When her half-brother Mircea was buried alive? The boyars made their first mistake not killing all the Draculesti’s. Leave one dragon alive, and the sheep are never safe.

“Who is responsible for allowing the Ottomans to treat us as a vassal state? Why has Wallachia been so weak under your control?”

A murmur rose among the boyars yet none of them dared to speak to her directly. Very well.

“Kill them,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth. As if there ever was any.

She immediately noticed when the screaming stopped. Dead men littered the stone floors, trying to escape, most of the women were slumped over the tables. Several groans and twitches indicated some were still alive, but unconscious or incapacitated.

Lada may have taken Radu’s advice to the extreme, but she was oddly glad he was not here to witness the carnage. He always fainted at the sight of blood when they were children.

She held her hand up to stop the slaughter. “Take them outside the city limits – I don’t care how long it takes – but I would recommend doing it before they rot.” One by one the soldiers dragged out the remaining bodies, some still had the energy to scream and cry, others only low groans of pain.

Nicolae came by her side, “Their families will come,” he said quietly, “they do not suffer easily.”

“Let them come and I will strip them of their titles. They will be nothing.”

Lada had considered telling Nicolae of her plans to put them to use building her new fortress and capital deep in the beautiful green forests of Wallachia; a dark emerald shade that only appeared after it rained. Bogdan had supported her. Nicolae though… considering his shock realizing what would happen tonight, decided that was a conversation for another day.

“So many bodies,” she murmured. How was it possible to transport them all?

 

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“You will answer to God, fire-breathing bitch!” one of them screamed. She motioned to set him up higher. Lada went onto the next row of impaled bodies.

 “Y –you are committing … crime against the state,” a noblewoman gurgled, slowly drowning in her blood.

“I am the state,” Lada replied. She motioned to one of the black-hooded executioners, “Put that one out of her misery.” Small clemencies could be afforded every now and then.

She had never been more grateful for her meticulous knowledge of Wallachian geography – something forced onto her by her tutors as a child. The rugged, mountainous landscape outside the city walls were perfect for displaying the bodies yet far enough so the stench wouldn’t bother anyone.

“You have all committed crimes against me, Wallachia and all of Christendom.” Only she had the right to rule, every thread of power would start and end with her.

The younger boyars she did not kill were sent northward to construct her new fortress, Castle Poenari: north of Tirgoviste, south of Transylvania. In time, she will build her new capital around it and she will name it București.

Nicolae came by her side, though he avoided looking at the putrid corpses. “No one in this country will ever underestimate you again,” his voice was a mixture of shock and awe. That reminded her of what Bogdan said to her almost a year ago, still running from a prince she may have overestimated, _the biggest mistake they will make is underestimating you._

Lada closed her eyes in frustration. If anyone was going to kill him, it should have been by her hand. She wished Bogdan was here beside her just so she could throw him off the mountains, drag him back up, then do it again until he got the message that he was _hers_. Lada had a trusted servant who tasted her food, but Bogdan didn’t.

It was an inconvenience for the Sultan’s envoys to come to Tirgoviste so soon after Bogdan’s death. She had neither the time nor patience for the Ottomans’ attitudes of superiority. So, when they confidently requested 20,000 gold ducats and 1,000 janissary recruits – a blinding, cold rage seized her. Most of her trusted soldiers were themselves former janissaries, and they were all too eager to follow her orders. Their turbans were nailed to their heads as a mockery of their faith and sent to the Sultan. Lada specifically ordered them put in honey to preserve them.

Caught up in her bloody history, she glanced at Nicolae, she knew he was trying to assure her but every little thing reminded her of Bogdan. It seems she will get no reprieve from pain. Wounds did not always heal with time; some got sharper like the edge of a knife. Perhaps _this_ was the price for Wallachia, this and much more to come.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to write this chapter. After I finished And I Darken and researching the real-life history, THIS was one of the scenes in my earliest outlines.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow took me almost two years to finish but its finally done! I hope you've enjoyed it.

EPILOGUE:

Autumn, 1455. Buda, Kingdom of Hungary.  

_If I bring my armies to Wallachia, I will poison your fields, enslave your people and raze your city to the ground._

Lada had only one reply, _If._  

If Mehmed ever returned to Wallachia, she would fulfill her promise to kill him. And thus, she has broken the peace with him.

“You’ve caused quite a row,” a deep voice said with slight irritation, “First, the Pope refuses to give funds and now the Ottomans threaten our borders.

Lada turned and met the King of Hungary’s gaze. She was drawn to his features. Matthias had his father’s large forehead and fair skin, but the similarities ended there. He had curling blond hair and his nose was aquiline like hers. His eyes were blue – a prized trait – but it’s loveliness was lost due to his penetrating stare, making them appear almost translucent.

“We don’t need faith; _we_ rule the people. Not the Pope, not the Turks. If they try to conquer us, we will rise above them and burn their bodies. One by one, they will all succumb to the ashes. It is the greatest defilement against their faith.”

She did not care for God, but Matthias did. Faith was power. It could topple kings, create new empires, and shatter old alliances. If she could just push him a little further –  then they can make the rest of Europe tremble, and drive the Turks out of Europe once and for all.

 

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Winter, 1455. Ottoman Empire.

Radu learned a great deal from his sister how to defeat his enemies when diplomacy failed.

And he no longer needed her. Radu had – for better or worse – chosen Mehmed over his sister. Chosen the Empire over Wallachia. Yet, her presence followed him relentlessly. Whether it be reports of her recent atrocities or rumors of a marriage to Hungary, his past refused to stay in the past.

He could never become what Mehmed wanted: friend, lover, a replacement for Lada – forever out of his reach. And Radu could never become what Lada wanted: loyal to Wallachia, a compliant younger brother, someone to protect. He had spent much of his life pretending what others wanted him to be.

He will carve his own path through victory or defeat. Happiness of sorrows. It did not matter if they were _real._  

Mehmed and Lada would have destroyed each other in the end even without his intervention. Two of those types of powerful rulers simply cannot coexist. People like Mehmed and Lada were destined for fame and glory. The Conqueror. The Impaler. The Hand of God on Earth and the Daughter of the Dragon.


End file.
